


From 0 to 60

by Spikedluv



Category: Dark Blue, Southland
Genre: Community: smallfandomfest, Crossover, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-05
Updated: 2012-06-05
Packaged: 2017-11-06 23:53:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/424595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spikedluv/pseuds/Spikedluv
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Dean gets arrested while working undercover it cements his relationship with his target; when the assignment’s over he looks up Officer Ben Sherman to thank him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	From 0 to 60

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Round 11 of Small Fandoms Fest using the prompt: Dark Blue/Southland, Dean/Ben, Ben arrests Dean's cover persona (without knowing Dean's a cop. Author's choice on what Dean's cover is). Dean looks Ben up after the assignment's over and offers a very *personal* thank-you for making his cover look better (preferably NC-17).
> 
> Written: June 5, 2012

Dean leaned against the tailgate of the Range Rover Evoque, arms crossed over his chest, and watched as Officer Ben Sherman approached the vehicle. Pretty fancy vehicle for an LAPD officer only recently off probation, but Dean had done his homework and knew that Ben Sherman came from money. He also thought he’d figured out what had driven him into police work.

Dean hadn’t been noticed yet because Sherman had walked out with his partner, Sam Bryant, and was laughing at something he said. Bryant was the first to notice him standing there. Dean watched him say something to Sherman and then both their eyes were on him. He saw the moment they both recognized him – the tension in their shoulders, the instinctive reach for the weapon they were no longer carrying on their hip.

Dean raised both hands to show them that he meant them no harm. They were both clearly confused, since the last time they’d seen Dean they’d been putting him in cuffs and shoving him into the back of their patrol car – Dean had nearly gotten away, but Sherman was a speedy little motherfucker – and civilians couldn’t get into the locked parking area. At least, not without jumping a fence.

Dean slowly lowered one hand, not wanting them to get too twitchy, and used just the fingers to draw back his jacket. Both their gazes dropped to the badge Dean wore clipped to his belt.

Bryant tilted his chin towards it. “That thing real?”

Dean lifted the badge off his belt and tossed it to Bryant, who caught it out of the air reflexively. “Cracker jacks,” Dean said.

Bryant rolled his eyes at the comment even as he studied the badge, making note, Dean was certain, of the number. He handed it off to Sherman who gave it a cursory glance before returning it to Dean.

Dean slipped the badge back onto his belt and made sure his jacket covered it. “Thanks. Can I . . . ?” He indicated the hand still raised in the air.

“Sure,” Sherman said.

Dean had been studying Sherman since he exited the back of the building. He remembered the serious expression and the too blue eyes – he’d been thinking about them for the past several weeks, ever since Sherman had tackled him to the pavement and slapped cuffs on him before dragging him to his feet. Carter was never going to let him live it down.

Dean held out his hand. “Dean Bendis.”

They both stared at his hand a little suspiciously. Bryant was the first to take the proffered hand.

“Sammy Bryant. This is my partner, Ben Sherman.”

Dean nodded. “I know. I looked up my arrest report. You’re fast,” he told Sherman.

Sherman nodded to acknowledge the comment. “Speaking of your arrest report,” he said. “Bendis wasn’t the name on it.”

“I was Dean O’Connell that day,” Dean said easily.

“Undercover?” Bryant said.

Dean nodded.

“You here to bitch us out for blowing your cover?” Sherman asked. He appeared curious, but not overly concerned.

“Just the opposite,” Dean said. “I was having . . . trust issues. You helped me out with that, which is why I wanted to stop by and thank you both personally. Especially you, since you chased my ass like you meant it.”

“It went well, then?” Bryant said.

Dean grinned just thinking about it. “Very well.”

Bryant frowned and looked like he was in deep thought. “Petrov?” he said.

“I can neither confirm, nor deny,” Dean said.

“Seriously?” Ben said, his tone loaded with sarcasm, but carrying a hint of respect.

Dean shrugged it off. It was a job, one he was good at. Sometimes it was easier for him to play someone else than to be himself. He refused to think about why he was so good at playing the scum bags he got paid to take down.

“So,” he said. “You two up for a drink?”

Bryant groaned. “I’d _love_ to. But I’ve got Nate this weekend.” He clapped Sherman on the shoulder. “Have one for me, buddy.”

Sherman raised his eyebrows. “Just one?”

Bryant laughed. “Any more than that and who knows who you’ll go home with.”

Sherman gave a fake laugh. “You’re hilarious, now get out of here before you’re late picking him up.”

“Nice meeting you, man,” Bryant said, “Glad we could help,” and then walked off in the direction of his own car, waving to them over his shoulder.

“So,” Dean said to Sherman. “You in?”

“Sure, I could use a drink,” Sherman said.

~*~*~*~

When Ben woke up his mouth tasted like ass. He shifted on the mattress and froze when he felt a twinge in areas that hadn’t felt that sweet ache since before the academy. Speaking of ass, he thought. Ben tried to remember what had happened the night before, but the low level throb in his head made it difficult to think.

The scent of coffee, when it reached his nostrils, was welcome. Someone nudged his shoulder with the warm mug. Ben rolled to his side (biting back the soft groan as he used muscles that would rather not be used just then) and reached out blindly for the mug.

“These first,” a husky male voice that Ben recognized, but couldn’t quite place, said.

Ben forced open his eyes and a very male hand filled his vision. He took the aspirin lying in the palm of said hand and popped them into his mouth. His fingers reflexively closed around the glass pressed to his hand and he pushed himself up onto his elbow so he could drink without spilling it all over himself. The cold water felt refreshing on his dry tongue and throat, and the fact that it washed some of the nasty taste from his mouth was a bonus.

“Thanks,” Ben said, his voice still a little raspy. He gratefully handed the glass back to Dean (whose name had popped into his head with the first sip of water), and took the mug he offered.

Ben glared at Dean over the rim of the mug after he’d taken his first sip. “How can you look so good when I feel like utter crap?” He never looked like crap in the morning. He was the _king_ of not looking like crap.

Dean laughed. “Practice. Plus I took a shower while the coffee perked.”

Dean lowered himself into a chair next to the bed, legs stretched out in front of him. He had a cup of coffee of his own, and Ben wondered how he’d carried everything in until he noticed the tray on the bedside table.

“Normally I would’ve given you a more pleasurable wake up call,” Dean said easily. “Unfortunately, I got called in.”

Despite the sheer number of hookups he’d indulged in recently, the comment spoken so casually made Ben blush as he imagined how Dean might’ve woken him. So caught up in the fantasy was he that it took a moment for the second part of Dean’s statement to register.

“Didn’t you just get off a case?”

Dean shrugged. “No rest for the wicked. You’ve got time for a shower if you want,” he added.

“Mmm, yeah,” Ben said. He definitely wanted. Ben groaned as he sat up.

Dean grinned. “Yeah, you said it had been a while for you.”

“Bite me,” Ben said as he pushed himself to his feet.

Dean just laughed.

Ben finished his coffee, then headed for the bathroom, his feet obviously remembering the way. He felt Dean’s eyes on him, but didn’t turn back to look. He wasn’t normally this self-conscious the morning after, but there was something about the way Dean looked at him that made him feel exposed, sort of like a bug under a microscope. Maybe it was merely the fact that Dean was the first guy he’d been with in a very long time.

Ben relieved himself and then stared at his reflection as he washed his hands. He splashed water on his face, but that didn’t change anything. He didn’t look any different than he had yesterday morning, if you didn’t count the stubble on his chin or the dark circles under his eyes.

Ben turned on the shower and didn’t even wait for it to warm up before stepping under the spray. He shivered until the water ran warm, but the shock of cold added to the hit of caffeine got his brain working again. He almost wished it hadn’t when memories of the night before began to surface.

Dean’s, “I hope you’ll understand if we don’t go to one of your usual hangouts. Can’t be seen at a known cop bar,” and the nearly silent drive to the bar.

Ben had driven because Dean didn’t have a car, but the bar Dean directed him to wasn’t the dive he’d expected. It was a nice neighborhood bar (Dean’s neighborhood, Ben later discovered), where people really did know your name. (Even if it was a fake one.) There were TVs showing various games, a jukebox, and two pool tables.

They talked over beer and wings. Stilted at first because neither of them was used to giving away too much about themselves. Even when Dean started opening up Ben didn’t know how much of what he said was true. Ben didn’t take offense – he wasn’t sure Dean even knew what was truth and what a lie.

They played pool and Ben got his ass kicked. Dean finally admitted that he hustled pool for at least one of his covers, but not before he’d taken Ben for a hundred bucks. Outside the bar Dean had offered Ben his hand and thanked him again for helping (if inadvertently) to cement his cover on his last case. Dean was planning to walk home, but Ben insisted on driving him.

When Ben pulled the Range Rover up outside Dean’s apartment building, Dean said, “Come up for coffee? Or tequila. I think I even have a lime.”

Ben had found a parking spot, but he got neither coffee nor tequila. Not until this morning, anyway. Ben had – shit, he got hard just remembering it. He’d pushed Dean up against the counter in his kitchen and kissed him. Dean had only looked a little bit surprised, and there was pleasure in it.

Dean had felt good – the hard press of his lips, firm hand at Ben’s back, lean lines of him pressed along Ben from chest to thigh. Ben hadn’t realized how much he’d missed this – the stubble, the proof of another man’s arousal pressing against his own.

Things had happened fast after that – Ben got breathless just thinking about it. Dean pushed his hands beneath Ben’s shirt and when he touched bare skin it felt as if he’d ignited a fire. Ben couldn’t think of anything except the press of their bodies and the way Dean’s tongue laid claim to his mouth. He forgot why he’d stopped doing this, forgot that he didn’t know if Dean was someone he could trust with this part of himself. Even when Dean offered him an out Ben didn’t take it.

Their clothes came off in a trail that led to Dean’s bed. Dean touched him, and Ben pushed up into Dean’s hand with an abandon he rarely let himself experience with his screw du jour. Ben had groaned out a, “Yes,” when Dean asked if he was clean. Ben was certainly no monk, but he was careful. And he got tested regularly.

Before the sound of the ‘s’ left his mouth Dean’s own mouth was on him, and Ben made a completely different sound. Some of the girls he’d taken home had been willing to do this for him, but none had a mouth like Dean’s. Or the same level of enthusiasm.

Ben thought he might’ve passed out after he came in Dean’s mouth, but Dean refused to let him. He’d tweaked Ben’s nipples and shoved his tongue into Ben’s mouth to share the taste of his come. It was nasty. And hot.

“No going anywhere,” Dean said as he stroked his thumb over the nipple he’d just pinched. “I’m not done with you yet.”

“Not sure I’ve got much left,” Ben gasped as Dean rasped his tongue over Ben’s abused nipple.

Dean smirked. “We’ll see about that.”

Ben said, “It’s been a while for me,” but he spread his legs like a two dollar whore when Dean touched him with a lubed finger.

“I’ll be gentle,” Dean teased as his finger circled Ben’s hole.

“Fuck you,” Ben said, but it ended on a groan as Dean pressed one finger inside him.

Turned out, sex was a lot like riding a bike. And Dean was as good with his hands as he was with his mouth. Ben couldn’t believe how quickly he recovered from his first orgasm as Dean slowly and very thoroughly fingered him open. When Dean finally suited up and pressed inside him, Ben was more than ready for him. He hadn’t been filled like this in a long time. Too long, Ben thought as together they push-pulled his leg back so Dean could slide in even deeper.

Ben wouldn’t have called himself a moaner, but fuck! He couldn’t shut up. Dean’s name and “please” were the least embarrassing things that came out of his mouth. Dean wasn’t going to hold it against him if the way his hips sped up each time Ben moaned his name was any indication.

“Are you gonna come for me?” Dean growled.

Ben bit his lip to hold back the groan and spunked in his hand as memory-Ben arched his back and spurted his come between them.

As soon as he could breathe again Ben cleaned off his hand under the spray. He couldn’t believe he’d come merely from remembering the things they’d done last night. Maybe it was his body’s way of telling him that he needed to stop ignoring that part of himself. Ben busied himself with shampooing his hair and soaping up his body so he didn’t have to think about it any more deeply.

When he was squeaky clean and could put it off no longer, Ben stepped out of the shower and dried off with the towel Dean had left for him on the corner of the sink. He didn’t see any product he could borrow so he just combed his fingers through his hair. Ben wrapped the towel around his waist and steeled himself to go back out there and gather up his clothes from where they been dropped as they made their way to Dean’s bed.

Ben felt a little bit foolish when he opened the door to discover that Dean was no longer sitting in the chair beside the bed, and that his clothes had been picked up and piled neatly on the foot of the bed. Dean hadn’t gone far – it was pretty good sized, but the apartment was still just one room. Dean was in the kitchen, and he’d taken the tray from the bedside stand with him.

Dean was on his cell, but he nodded at Ben to acknowledge him, then turned his back to give Ben a semblance of privacy. Ben took advantage of it and hurriedly whipped the towel off and got dressed. He hung the wet towel over the shower bar, and when he stepped out of the bathroom the second time Dean was off the phone. He leaned against the counter and waited patiently for Ben.

“Sorry to give you the bum rush,” Dean said as he pushed a travel mug across the counter to Ben.

“No problem,” Ben said as he accepted the mug. He’d rushed out more mornings after than he could count, and for far less of a good reason. As he took a sip of the coffee Ben noticed that Dean had already washed up the glass, mugs, and coffee pot that had been dirtied that morning.

Dean shrugged and gave Ben a sheepish smile, as if he’d been caught out. “Don’t know how long I’ll be gone. I don’t want to come back to moldy dishes in the sink.”

“Spoken like a man who has done just that,” Ben said.

“I had to throw out everything and go buy new,” Dean admitted.

Ben laughed. “Tough guy can’t deal with mold?”

“It was disgusting,” Dean said.

Ben laughed some more.

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean said. “Let’s get going before Carter reams me a new one.”

“Carter?”

“The boss.”

“Ah. Impatient, is he?”

Dean didn’t answer, just grabbed his jacket off the hook and opened the door. He waved Ben through, then dead bolted the door behind them. The walk down the stairs was made in an easy silence. On the sidewalk, Dean stopped beside a car that held one annoyed looking driver.

“Your boss?” Ben said quietly.

“Yeah.”

“He looks annoyed.”

Dean bent down and looked into the open passenger side window. “Carter always looks annoyed – it’s his default.”

Carter’s expression didn’t change. “Say goodbye to your . . . friend, and get in the car, Dean.”

Dean was grinning when he straightened and looked at Ben.

“Are you two . . . ?”

“He hasn’t put a ring on it, if that’s what you’re asking,” Dean said.

Ben was struck speechless for a moment. “Did you just quote Beyonce?”

Dean’s grin didn’t dim. “Don’t tell anyone.”

Before Ben could answer Dean captured his lips for a kiss that made his knees go weak. “Bye,” Dean said when he pulled back. “And thanks again.”

Ben felt the heat creeping up his neck as he remembered once more the things they’d done the night before.

Dean smirked at him. “For the arrest,” he clarified. “Maybe we’ll run into each other again.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Ben said.

Ben watched Dean turn away and get into the car and resisted the urge to touch his lips. He wasn’t sure whether the kiss had been for his benefit, or for Carter’s, but as the car pulled away from the curb Ben found himself thinking dangerous thoughts about things he’d told himself he couldn’t have. He shook the feelings off. There were other, and better, reasons for sticking with women that had nothing to do with having to wonder if back-up would arrive in time.

~*~*~*~

Carter was silent for three blocks.

“I didn’t think you were the ring wearing type.”

Dean laughed. Carter was so in control all the time that it felt like a huge accomplishment when he was able to get under his skin. (And Dean could get under Carter’s skin like nobody else could.)

“You should know better than anyone not to judge a book by its cover.”

Cater gave him a look. “I’ve been between the covers, and I didn’t find anything about wanting a ring.”

“Maybe I don’t want one,” Dean said. “Or maybe you just haven’t read far enough.”

Carter snorted. Silence fell again, but Dean knew it wouldn’t last long. Carter was too wound up, and predictable besides.

“A cop?”

“I just wanted to thank him and his partner for helping with my cover,” Dean explained.

Carter’s eyebrows went up. “By sleeping with him?”

“That was just a bonus,” Dean said.

Carter went silent again, but Dean could practically see the gears turning inside his head.

“Beyonce?”

Dean smiled out the window. “Shut up, Carter.”

Carter laughed, and, yeah, that’s what Dean kept coming back for.

The End


End file.
